The Hunter and the Hunted
by en-lumine
Summary: **AC3 SPOILERS** The musings of a wounded hunter as he closes in on his biggest adversary.


**** BEFORE you read: be warned this contains major spoilers; and is effectively, a detailed part of the game's ending - so please do not read if you haven't finished the game, thanks! ****

As with many of my fics (in other sections of ), this was supposed to be a one-shot, but the ideas and details that my muse bombarded me with, compelled me to turn this into a short, 2-chapter story. This started out as a mere descriptive exercise, truth be told, because I find this particular assassination to be the most beautiful part of the entire game - actually, the best assassination in the entire series. But as I got writing, trying to fit into the characters, I realised as if a different world just opened up in front of me.

Nevertheless, I hope you all will read and review this story - t'is my first contribution to the Assassin's Creed section, I hope to make a decent mark here. Do let me know of what you think of this - the second and final chapter, of course, would be the real deal..

**Disclaimer**: I own none of the characters, the plot, or any aspect of the game in any manner. Everything belongs to their rightful owners - this is just a curious writer trying to fill in some gaps within the story.

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**THE HUNTER AND THE HUNTED**

**PART I**

"Even those men you sought to save have turned their backs on you - yet you fight, you resist. Why?"

Retrieved. Loaded. Ready to fire.

"Because no one else will!"

BANG!

That single shot seemed louder to Connor, than all the cannonballs aboard the Aquila, firing at the same time. In between that gunshot, and the sound of Lee groaning as he buckled over his wound, the injured assassin barely heard the roar and crackle of the flames in the burning ship. And for a small moment, Connor allowed himself to derive a perverse, sadistic pleasure from hearing another man in pain.

But this wasn't just a man. This was a looting, murdering, power-hungry monster. The one they called Boiling Water.

Charles Lee. Pale green eyes full of horror as he collapsed onto his knees, wheezing, back turned to Connor.

Only a few moments ago, Lee had towered over him. Looked down on him, taunted and mocked the assassin as he lay withering in pain. It was more than enough to send Connor over the edge. He would have risen and crushed Lee's cheekbone and part of his jaw with a single blow.

But it was the sheer, blistering white-hot pain in Connor's side that was keeping him from meeting and levelling Lee's evil, questioning gaze - or dislocating his jaw. Some rogue wooden pole had pretty much skewered Connor's abdomen. Though never a stranger to serious injuries; it was the events of the past few months, the plight of his village-folk, the death of his father, when combined, had taken a toll over Connor; body, mind and soul.

He had tried to will the pain away - as he always did. But this time, it seemed as if mule-headed determination and extraordinary physical limits had finally met their match.

No matter. His anger would always be the true champion - the unconquerable beast; that would, unusually, put things in perspective for him.

One thing the assassin could never stand was being belittled in a fight. Any fight.

Let alone the final showdown he had been craving since the past twenty-two years.

Connor's flintlock had not failed him. If not dead, then at least Lee had been crippled. Death may approach sooner or later, but it would now be _certainly_ upon the traitous, cold-hearted murderer.

Connor had seen to it. The damage was done.

Lee had collapsed onto his knees, holding his abdomen in agony. An aging man, it would not be long before he would succumb to this gunshot wound, and finally find some peace. A part of Connor hoped not. That part, still childish and unruly, wished Charles Lee would suffer even after death, such evil monsters are hardly likely to have spirits.

But a small voice asked Connor to let his anger and hatred end now. It did not befit the Creed.

During the final moments of his consciousness, Connor unusually grew increasingly wary of his surroundings, as he took in the details of the blazing inferno.

The metallic, bitter taste of his own blood as it bubbled and flowed from the corners of his mouth and gurgled in his throat.

The flames, that soared and seared everything in sight, licking away happily at the wooden structure with nonchalant glee.

But what registered onto the assassin's broken body and even more fragile state of mind the most was the smell. An acrid concoction of scorching wood, smoke, burnt flesh and the unforgettable suffocating stench of death and terror.

The longhouse. The fire. More than two decades ago.

"Eesta," he tried to whisper, but no sound escaped his parched lips. Ziio's face, beautiful and authorotative even in her last moments swam into his line of vision. Somewhere in between the crackling of the fire and groaning wood, her words returned to him and whispered in his ears.

A bittersweet pain, much less intense than the one in his side, rippled across Connor's heart at the memory, sending him into another world altogether. A meringue of voices whispered in his ear - though they seemed louder than bells over the crackling fire.

_You are a nothing... A speck of dust..._

_Son... I should have killed you long ago..._

_Be strong... Be brave... Rahtonhake:ton..._

It would be a noble end, Connor inwardly mused, vaguely suicidal, as a fresh wave of pain washed over him. Lee and Connor were both leveled on the ground. Balanced. Exactly the way they should be.

Two adversaries. Warriors in battle.

Eye to eye, face to face.

_But this is not the time - not when there is so much more to be done..._

The assassin was nearly done contemplating the future when he heard a deep, guttural cry - coming from his counterpart. Charles Lee had only been rendered breathless for a few long moments. Now he was scrambling onto his feet again, clutching the remains of his abdomen and whimpering in a silent agony that ran too deep for cries.

Even in his position, Connor felt a flash of fury hotter than the fire around him, thunder through his veins. The assassin knew his physical strength and pain threshold matched only a select few. He tried to get up but a bloody cough racked him, and his vision hazed to a mere blur.

All his life, Connor had learned to bear, to tolerate, to survive. But patience and restraint had always been the toughest subjects for the native assassin.

In time, this pain of his would soon be nothing but a battle scar on the canvas of his body. In time. But now, he needed to restrain himself from chasing Lee, even if for a few hours, lest he rip apart more of his tender wound.

The pain would heal. That fear in Lee's eyes would not.

The last time Connor had been looked down upon by the man, everything he had held dear had been reduced to ashes. He will not make the same mistake again.

Lee was an imbecile for doing this to himself.

_So let him run! _Connor thought, as black smoke billowed around Lee's retreating figure. He limped without as much as a backward glance. _Let the coward try and seek a momentary breather. It will not stop his destiny. I will find him again. I shall plunge my blade into his blackened heart before the daylight fades, this day. _

_He knows he cannot hide. Let him run._

And with that, Connor grunted painfully, and finally let the darkness shrouding his vision take him in its dark, comforting embrace.

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So there - Hope you guys enjoyed reading this! Whatever your views are, and any suggestions, please do let me know how this went, it would mean a lot to me. Thanks and enjoy!


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